Manong Driver

It was a humid afternoon when I took a cab home. Like many others in the city, the cab didn't look too clean and comfortable to ride on. And like many others in the city, I didn't mind because I was used to it and I wanted to go home already.

From the client's office, we took to the back streets--the many little arteries that support life in this dirty city--and within moments we were already along the expressway to the suburbs. The ride was uneventful until the cab driver embarrassingly told me that he did not know the way to Alabang.

Initially I didn't know how to react. I didn't know what to say. The person driving this dirty white box on four wheels didn't know what exit to take on the expressway. It took me about two seconds to respond to his statement. Told him which exit to take, the directions he needed to get me home.

I was tempted to ask why he didn't know the way, but first I asked him why he took me as a passenger.

"It's my job," he said. "It's my job to take passengers to where they need to go."

I'm not one to strike a conversation with a complete stranger, but his answer made me want to ask more; to understand why he didn't say no like the many cab drivers in the city; to get to know the man behind the wheel better.

Unfortunately I didn't get his name, but I called him Manong.

Like many others in the city, Manong began as an overseas Filipino worker. He was an OFW and he worked as a family driver for a wealthy family in Saudi Arabia for 10 long years. It was a difficult decade for him because he rarely got to see his family. He gets to see them in the Philippines when there was a break from work or when he could afford the trip. Usually Manong would be with his family in Rizal for 2 weeks. Sometimes he'd stay for a month. And every time Manong left, it was the most terrible thing for him. But he knew then that leaving was necessary to feed his family, which was thousands of miles away, and bring his children to school.

But everything didn't go as well as he hoped. Like many others before him, Manong was cast out and jobless. Seeing that staying in a foreign place whilst jobless hardly made any sense, he decided to go back home with what little money he had saved almost two years ago. He was the only breadwinner and his eldest child was a Mass Communication student in her third year in UP Los Banos. Manong also had his other children to worry about.

Unfortunately, the vicious system commonly accepts the young, the new graduates, the idealistic, people like me, to work from the wee hours of the morning until late at night. Manong was already old, and even if he had experienced working abroad and a pretty decent English, too, he knew that he wouldn't stand a chance against the younger, thirstier, hungrier generation. But he sends his resume to companies regularly hoping he'd get a break.

When I asked him why he didn't hesitate to take me to Alabang, he said that it's his job to take me to where I want to go.

"I can't be choosy. These are difficult times and if I choose the people I take, I might lose an opportunity to earn something or learn something from those I didn't take," he said. "Besides, I'm doing this for my daughter in college. I want her to finish her studies."

Manong's daughter is currently a scholar at UPLB. Although she's doing extremely well in her academics and she's not paying a single centavo for her studies, it's the rent and daily allowance that she's asking from her father every week. Most of us have been through this and we know how difficult it is to budget our money and pay the rent when we're living away from our family. Manong still has a year to support his daughter. Another year before he sees her on stage with her diploma. And he will gladly drive his cab any time, anywhere just to see that beautiful day.

When we've reached our destination, I thanked him and gave him an extra 100 pesos. I gave him that much for three reasons:

1) For taking me to Alabang though if he didn't know the way;
2) For being a good father to his family and an honest person to me;
3) For the journey home.

It's not every day I get to meet people like Manong who is both honest and hardworking. We're all hardworking, I believe, but not all of us are as honest. And sometimes when we do get to meet someone who's honest enough to admit that he does not know the way, but has worked hard enough to get us there, he deserves a pat on the back and a tip to make him realize there are people who care and appreciate him for his efforts.

A Night In A Blue Bar

I remembered something last night which I’ve forgotten to blog. After a rather disappointing movie with my friends at Greenbelt days ago, I’ve decided to take one of my other “special” friends to a blue bar in Malate. It wasn’t easy for him to decide whether to go or not to, but my friend’s curiosity got the better of him – he has never been there before.

It was funny because he did not want to be noticed by anyone he knows, especially by anyone from his school. At exactly 1 in the morning, with hoodies and caps, we ventured to the busy streets of Nakpil. It took us a couple more minutes to get in line to this unbelievably small and crowded bar. I’ve been to this place before; however, it still gave me chills because I can never stand being in a place as crowded as a can of tuna with booming music and the scent of ecstasy in processed air.

So there we were, meters from the ramp, with no bottle of beer in hand, swaying to the music when everybody else was dancing and grinding (not to be confused with losers, please! Ha-ha!). Under the lasers and dim light even the ugliest can become the best looking. I warned my very discreet friend not to trust the dimly lit bar because most people there naturally look less good looking when they come outside. He did not believe me at first, but eventually he noticed I was right.

The funny thing about that particular night – I thought - was that my friend never wanted attention. But to go in a blue bar means to catch attention, having fun merely comes second (I will slap anyone who thinks otherwise). Almost nobody paid attention to him, I had more than enough. There were not really much guys there who passed our standards that night anyway. Then it suddenly dawned on me that he did not want attention, but we were there merely to satisfy his curiosity of being in a place he’s not accustomed to. He got culture shock – even I had that when I went there for the first time.

Everything else went well, but the one thing I’ve feared for my friend came: he wanted to go back soon. I am such a bad influence! No matter, when we think friends did us wrong they still remain our friends. I’m not saying it was wrong of me to bring him there, merely pondering if I’m the right person to guide my friend in this complicated world called gay life. But then again, the phrase did not really match my explanation. Ha-ha!

Correct me if I’m wrong. Gay bars are places where gay people go to because there are nude male dancers. Blue bars are places mostly filled with gay guys, not necessarily the entire list of people in that area.